


Intricate Rituals

by CultOfAdoration



Category: Repugnant (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, Fist Fights, M/M, Unedited unbetad, semi-public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18716245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CultOfAdoration/pseuds/CultOfAdoration





	Intricate Rituals

A sucker punch to the jaw sends you reeling, staggering away from the man standing opposite you. Your fists are raised, ready to strike back but he doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing, darting this way and that, shaking his hand out. It’s like he’d never been in a fight in his life but you know that to be a lie. it’s just another one of his dirty tricks. 

“Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You spit venomously. 

Mary shrieks, laughing as you shove him backwards, flailing to maintain his balance but not falling. The sound sends a surge of heat through your veins so you shove him again, harder this time, spinning him while he’s still regaining his balance to grab him by the collar and shove him face first against the brick wall. 

He growls, “Fucking _finally_ ”, the growl slowly winding down into a long groan and he grinds his hips back. “I’ve been trying to get you to fuck me all night, you fucking moron”. 

You’re still processing the concept of this being _foreplay_ to him, frozen on the spot with a hand on his hip and the other still pushing his cheekbone against the bar’s brick exterior, when you realize he’s already going for his belt. You snap to attention at the metallic clanking of the embarrassingly ostentatious buckle. 

“Nuh-uh,” you mutter and slap his hand away from the belt before he can undo it completely. He turns the best he can, no doubt ready to hurl another round of insults your way, but you cut him off with a firm push to his shoulders. He laughs, a soft huff through his nose, looking up at you from his place on his knees, through his eyelashes and curtain of tangled hair.

“Really? Fine, then.” 

He makes a show of licking his lips while slowly dragging the zipper of your jeans down, rising up slightly to rest on his heels so that he’s no longer sitting directly on the cold alley floor. 

You shudder at the crisp nighttime air, the hissed intake of breath making way for a long sigh at his hot, wet tongue on you. Planting a hand on your thigh to steady himself, he grabs you with the other and takes you as far into his throat as he can in one swift motion.

A high, nasal whine makes its way up from his throat and you can’t tell if it’s in earnest or if he’s just trying to get the better of you. You’re not quite sure if you care, either way. 

He takes you deep, and slow, and surprisingly gentle, over and over until it’s simultaneously almost too much to bear and not enough to get you over that plateau. He groans again, a deep low rumble in his chest when his nose is pushed flush against your heated skin.

He pulls away to breathe, gasping with a tiny cough, and strokes you once, twice, running his tongue up and down the underside of your cock, never once breaking eye contact.

“Good? You want more?” He pants, the flicking of his wrist picking up the pace before slowing back down as he twists his hand. You moan in the affirmative when he presses his thumb gently just beneath the head. 

“Ask me for it.” 

You can’t help but laugh. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be giving orders.”

The slight tremor in his hands and the way he scoots his knees closer together to “discreetly” palm at himself through his jeans is difficult to miss, but you opt to do nothing to help him. 

Bracing a hand on the wall, you roll your hips forward, into his open and waiting mouth. He speeds up, this time focusing on the head instead of taking you all the way in, making up for the difference with his hand. The sensation has you gritting your teeth and snapping your hips forward when it isn’t enough. 

He’d probably be smirking if his mouth weren’t occupied.

_ ”Fuck, Mary.”  _

You just barely manage to keep your voice under control when he pulls off again. He lets go of your cock to stroke a thumb over your hip. 

“Something you wanna say?” He grins up at you, still palming himself with one hand, thumb of the other never stopping its slow gentle circles on your skin.

“Get on with it,” you growl. 

His nails dig into your skin. Sharp. Punishing. 

“Yeah— Yeah, no problem,” he breathes with an airy moan as he spreads his legs again and slides his hand down the front of his jeans. He rocks up into his palm with smooth, fluid rolls of his hips. A few moans escape him on every exhale as he picks up speed, only slightly hampered by the tightness of the faded denim. Showoff. 

You put a hand on the back of his headand try to tug him in but he uses the one still on your hip for leverage and bounces back. 

“Nuh-uh,” he says, his voice a mocking impression of yours. You open your mouth to speak, maybe scream, or threaten, but you choke when you feel his tongue on you once more. 

“You want it? You wanna cum?” He licks another quick stripe up the side, eyes boring into yours. “Fucking beg me for it.” 

His fingers slide in a tight ring along the slick skin, Mary eyeing you intently and biting his lower lip to stifle a smug grin. 

”What’s wrong? Don’t you wanna cum?” he hisses, and goes back to laving the flat of his tongue along the shaft, catching any drips of precum he can get to. “You can do it on my face if you like, I won’t stop you.” As if to emphasize his point, he opens his mouth and strokes you faster, going back to twisting his wrist a little when he reaches the tip, eyes never leaving yours, despite how heavy his eyelids seem to get with each passing minute. 

The twitching in his thighs and tremble in his voice tells you he won’t be able to keep this up for much longer, but that’s still a bit too long for your liking. He shifts around restlessly between torturously slow swipes of his tongue. The shaking breaths ghost over the wet skin he leaves behind. 

With a frustrated growl, you tangle your fingers in the shorter hair on the sides of his head and roughly pull him down. You’d expected him to pull away again, honestly. To kick and claw and scratch and bite his way away from you, all for the sake of his pride and appreciation for a good power struggle. Anything except for the high, desperate keen and full body twitch you’re rewarded with for your sudden manhandling. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you hold him there until you can get your bearings — and until you’re sure you won’t cum before you can have a little bit of fun on your own terms — slowly rolling your hips in an attempt to plunge deeper into that wet heat even though his nose is already pressed against your navel. 

Mary’s fidgeting gets quicker, more urgent, and for a second you think he’s trying to push away until you notice that both of his hands shakily working his pants open.

“All that talk for nothing,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. Mary’s voice breaks in his throat when he moans around you, now able to stroke himself fully, making you hiss at the vibrations. 

Holding him still with both hands, you pull out and slowly thrust all the way back in, tears beading on his lower eyelashes despite the fact that you _know_ his gag reflex can take it. 

“Better put that mouth to work, Goore.”

Mary’s back arches just the barest amount each time you thrust in, as if he were trying to get closer, his own hand speeding up as he works himself over. 

Curling slightly over him and bracing yourself on the wall, you hold him flush against you, moving in tiny shallow thrusts until he starts tapping the side of your thigh with his free hand. 

Mary finally pushes himself off of you when you loosen your hold on his hair. You’re almost desperate for release, something inside of you snapping and you have to choke back a scream. You lace your fingers in the front of his fringe and angle his head back, thrusting into the other hand. 

Unable to stop yourself from repeating his name over and over under your breath, you release a final strangled moan and cum hot and hard on Mary’s face. Hot cum spatters over the bridge of his nose, his cheek, his lips, the tongue that he sticks out almost as an afterthought. He swallows, moaning and blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. 

“Fuck! Oh my god, _fuckfuckfuck_ —“ he gasps, voice cracking as he falls forward, resting his cheek against your hip. You try to ignore the slick, sticky feeling of your own cum rubbing off on the skin of your hip bone. His desperate, needy sounds pick up in frequency and volume as he gets nearer and nearer to his own orgasm. You’re about to jokingly ask if he needs help when he growls, harsh and animalistic. He slumps back against the brick wall, hand still quickly moving over himself until his back arches and hips snap forward into his hand a final time, cum dripping over his knuckles. 

He doesn’t remove his hand for a long while, hips twitching into the tight grasp with aftershocks. You look down at him, zipping up and straightening your clothes as best you can, kicking lightly — a tap, really — at his knee to get him up and moving. 

He puts himself away and slowly, groggily, hauls himself up to his feet. Under the harsh orange glow of a nearby streetlight, you can finally see what a number your little scuffle did to him. 

He ducks his head away when you try to wipe at his face. 

“Leave it,” he says, still shaky and breathless. You raise an eyebrow. 

“You look like shit,” you reply eloquently.

“Yeah.” 

Mary rests his head against the wall, running two fingers through the cum on his cheek and dragging them into his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, your expression shifts into a sneer. You should have known he’d keep trying to provoke a reaction even after the both of you were done. 

He laughs at your expression and continues to clean himself up, never breaking eye contact. 

The words escape you before you even know what you’re saying. 

_“You’re so fucking disgusting.”_

He palms himself again and hums with an exaggerated “ _Mmm_ , keep talking,” which only serves to earn him another halfhearted kick, this time to the side of the calf.

“Take me home, Goore.” 

He grins at you and pushes off the wall, making his way out of the alley. Despite everything, you follow. 


End file.
